


Hold on Hun, We're Gonna Bunny-Hug

by twilightstargazer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Freeform, Mild Smut, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10488900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “I’m not cruisin’ for a love connection,” she warns him with pursed lips. He still has her pinned to the door, one leg thrown around his waist as they grind into each other ever so often.James doesn’t miss a step, just drags his teeth over her pulse and says, “Good. Me either.”or, 'I slept with you the other day and I didn't know we had a mutual friend and now we’re sitting across each other for brunch and it’s awkward'





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'all that jazz' from the musical chicago which, tbh i think the soundtrack gave me some inspiration for the fic but i don't know how.

The pub is raucous tonight. It seems like everyone and their mum decided to hit up the Three Broomsticks, and Rosmerta only had time to sling their drinks across the counter before hustling off to deal with another round of patrons. It just errs on the side of uncomfortable; the close packed bodies, the almost deafening levels of chatter, the slowly building humidity that leaves his skin damp, even after he rolled up the sleeves of his flannel in an attempt to cool down.

It’s a bit chaotic, but then again, he thrives off of chaos. At least, that’s what he says after watching some bloke spill his drink on a girl in an attempt to feel her up, only to receive a punch to the jaw. It results in a minor scuffle and he just sits off to the side observing it. It reminds him of an Andy Warhol painting for some reason; just a blur of colour and movement.

James Potter is not good at flip cup.

Or, more accurately, he’s not good at this blaspheme of flip cup that Sirius came up with. He’s making them chug a bitter stout instead of beer, and James grimaces the whole way through, costing him and Remus significant time.

He gives up after the third round of losing- he doesn’t hate himself that much, plus he’s sure that if he doesn’t wash down the taste with something else, his tastebuds would never forgive him- and Sirius pats him on the back.

“Oh don’t be sad, Prongs,” he says, pinching his cheeks.

James bats his hands away. “You’re a sadistic bastard.”

“Funny, that’s what my mum used to call me growing up.”

He doesn’t even bother to deign that with a response, just flips him off and picks his way through the crowd to get to the bar. It’s bit of a challenge to get to the bar, but he has the advantage of height on his side and is easily able to push past a gaggle of teenagers who look way to young to even be here.

Rosmerta hands him a beer and he raises the bottle in silent thanks before heading over to the side exit. It’s becoming increasingly hot inside here, and he can feel the intermittent bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck before getting soaked up by his collar. There are still Christmas lights draped around the doorframe and he tries to remember if they were always there when he yanks it open.

At the end of January, winter is still holding on with a stubborn grasp. The chill immediately nips at him and he shakes his sleeves down. His coat is still inside, bunched up between the seats of the corner booth they had appropriated for themselves earlier in the day.

Only when he leans against the wooden railing does he realise he’s not alone. There’s a girl with her back turned towards him, wearing nothing but a pair of stretchy leggings and a cable knit jumper, both too thin for this kind of weather considering she was standing unconcerned in a pile of grey slush. She holds a spliff lazily between two fingers.

He watches her as she brings it to her lips before puffing out smoke. She looks both harsh and ethereal all at once. The watery moonlight makes her skin look silver, but the orange glow of the street lamp sets her hair on fire. She breathes in another puff of smoke.

“Those things are illegal you know,” he says easily, taking a swig of his beer.

She barely even turns towards him. “You gonna rat me out?”

It must be the alcohol talking when he says, “Not if you share.”

That gets her attention, and she finally looks up at him. There’s a thick line of black smudged around her eyes, which are red rimmed. He’s not sure if it’s intentional or not, her makeup, and the redness can’t just be from the weed. Her free hand comes up to thumb away a piece of rolling paper left behind and he lets his eyes linger on the dip of her cupid’s bow.

After a moment of contemplation, she offers it to him, and he trades it for his beer. He watches the bob of her throat as he takes a hit, and then tries not to cough as he holds the smoke in his lungs. It’s been a while since he’s done this; James doesn’t really make it a habit, but he knows Sirius keeps a box stashed away in his room.

He exhales roughly, watching the smoke swirl and disappear in the night air, and hands it back to her. She clings to his beer though, refusing to give it back, and he laughs.

“You know there’s a bar right behind you,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. It’s a little more than cold now, and he has no idea how she’s surviving without even a hat.

“It’s my birthday, I deserve something special,” she snarks, wrapping her candy colour lips around it again. James is gentleman though, so he tries not to think of that in any other connotations.

Instead he just leans on the railing next to her and says, “Well happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

They lapse into silence and he watches as tiny powder white flakes start to float down again. The Christmas lights inside filter through the window and turns her hair into a kaleidoscope. His glasses start to fog.

“Not to pry,” he says, ruffling his hair, “But why spend your birthday out in the cold behind a bar?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Because all my friends are either dicks or live more than a day’s drive away, and my sister’s a bitch,” she says in that easy way you talk to someone you know you’re never going to see again.

The airy way she speaks throws him a little, but he still tosses out a, “Well fuck them then,” a beat later.

Her laugh is low and smokey, and it causes something warm to coil in his belly. “How about you fuck me instead?” she says, sly, and he can’t help but smirk as he looms over her a little. Her jumper slinks down and he’s treated to a flash of lace before she rights it in place.

“As fun as that sounds,” he drawls, “I don’t screw around with girls who can’t properly consent.” He looks pointedly at the blunt held between her two fingers and she scoffs.

“I haven’t even made it through half of it as yet,” she says, and the words would sound whiny coming from anyone else, but not her; not with the corners of her mouth upturned exposing a glint of teeth. “If anyone’s compromised, it’s you. You smell like a bar.”

“Funny enough, we’re standing in a bar love.”

“We’re standing  _ outside  _ a bar,” she corrects him, rolling up on the balls of her feet.

He tugs on a lock of her hair. “Nitpicker,” he grouses, and her laugh is like the first day of spring after a long winter.

“Hey, how am I to know that you’re not drunk?” she says, leaning into him. Her eyes look impossibly green, and he feels his cheeks warm when he realises that he’s staring.

“Because I say I’m not obviously.”

“Prove it then.”

And, well, she’s standing too close, smelling like wildflowers under the sting of smoke while the Christmas lights twinkle across her skin. He can’t help but duck his head and kiss her, soft and a little questioning, pulling back before the moment is over.

“Does that prove it?” he asks, voice pitched shy of a whisper.

“Mmm, prove what?” she replies. Her eyes are still closed, lips parted just a bit, and he wants to kiss her all over again.

“That I really wanted to kiss you.”

She slowly blinks her eyes open and gives him a toothy grin. Her fingers are like ice as they creep up the back of his neck, and he hisses when they brush against his skin. She thinks it’s funny and does it on purpose.

“I think,” she murmurs, tiptoeing so that their noses just brush, “I think I’m going to need some further clarification on that matter.”

The hand that curls in his hair tightens, and he bumps his nose against hers at the sweet sting of it.

“My pleasure,” he rasps out before kissing her in earnest.

Her lips are cold and chapped, but her mouth is hot, opening for him to lick into. She tastes like smoke and cheap beer and, strangely enough, cinnamon, and she gives as good as she gets when it comes to kissing. The hand in his hair makes it its mission to rumple it as much as possible, and she doesn’t protest when he does the same, tugging on those long locks until she moans with it. His other hand is free to skim her body as they trade kisses, tracing the curve of her breasts, palming her ass, and she lets him, rubbing up against the hard lines of his body.

When they finally pull back, they’re both breathing hard, and her eyes are sparkling.

“That proof enough?” he pants. His hand is still resting dangerously low on her back.

She just responds by kissing him breathless once more.

“Well now that we’ve established that both parties are enthusiastically consenting,” she says after they managed to extract themselves from each other long enough to speak. That little sly grin is still pulling at her now slightly bruised lips and James is finding it hard to stop touching her. “I think we can finally get on with the show.”

His thumbs dip into the waistband of her leggings, brushing her tailbone. “You gotta venue in mind? Because I gotta say, my house is a bit too far right now.”

The sly grin turns sharklike and she leans in to tug on on his earlobe. “I think I can up with something,” she says, ghosting her lips across his cheekbone.

He flashes a lopsided grin at her. “Lead the way.”

Her ‘something’ turns out to be the handicapped stall of the women’s bathroom and James barks out a laugh.

“Classy,” he smirks as she twists the lock in place. It’s small and cramped and he crowds her up against the door, nipping at her lips. “Real classy.”

“What can I say, I’m a high end kind of girl,” she jokes, though it comes out thready as he leans in to lick a stripe down her neck.

They get lost in each other again, conversation petering out into a murmured phrase here and there, interspaced with long pauses and hot kisses. It’s only when he makes the mistake of asking her name do things get awkward.

She falters against his neck, nails digging into his biceps as she pulls back. He lost the flannel a while ago to her wandering hands, and his have been very happily plucking at her nipples through the soft cup she’s wearing.

“I’m not cruisin’ for a love connection,” she warns him with pursed lips. He still has her pinned to the door, one leg thrown around his waist as they grind into each other ever so often.

James doesn’t miss a step, just drags his teeth over her pulse and says, “Good. Me either.” He doesn’t have time for a girlfriend, not when he’s supposed to start his new job in a few weeks, and he’s heard firsthand just how hard this firm works their recruits.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page,” she says, pulling his back up and kissing him. “I’m Lily by the way.”

“James,” he mutters against her lips, tugging on them before he starts kissing down her neck, over her chest. He drops to his knees in front of her, scraping his teeth against the bump of her abdomen.

“Fuck,” she says, voice hitching, “You don’t have to-”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve something special,” he interrupts, parroting her words back to her, and a slow smile pulls at her lips.

“Alright,” she says, moving her hand from his forehead. “Treat me then.”

He gives her a two finger salute and tugs her leggings off before throwing one of her legs over his shoulder. It causes her to slump in an awkward half crouch against the door, but she soldiers on, grabbing a fist full of his hair. “For balance,” she winks, and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

There’s a small tattoo over her hipbone that he drags his lips over, and he rubs his thumbs into her skin.

She’s wet, but he still takes some time to prime her with his fingers, tapping a careless rhythm on her clit as he strokes her, until she’s shivering above him. Only after he’s gotten her nice and slick does he lick into her, and there’s a dull thump as she throws her head back against the door, a high pitched whine leaving her throat.

It’s been a while since he’s done this too, hooked up, and he tries to make it last, fucking into her cunt with tongue, sucking on her clit, before backing off with soft kitten licks as she sighs and groans above him. She’s mostly quiet, pulling on his hair a lot, but when he does something that gets a noise out of her, he does it again and again until she gives a little choked off sob that he comes to think of as a job well done.

Eventually, there’s only so many times her can push her to the edge before dragging her back, and by the time his tongue curls around that little bud, teeth gently scraping against her hypersensitive flesh, her legs are shaking, and when she comes, her hips jerk helplessly against his face. He lets her, lapping it all up as she rides out her high, and when she finally slumps boneless, she pushes his head away.

“Fuck,” she says again, pulling him up. She gives him a messy kiss, licking her taste out of his mouth and at this point he’s painfully hard against the zipper of his jeans, and he can’t stop the little helpless jerk of his hips when she bites his lip.

She pulls away, gasping, and her hands immediately go to his belt, undoing it with nimble fingers and he can’t help but thrust against her palm.

When she gets to her knees, he groans, throwing his arm across his eyes, almost knocking his glasses off.

“My turn to repay the favour,” she smirks, and then proceeds to suck him off wet and messy, her mouth and tongue and throat driving him wild to the point that he can’t even talk anymore.

After he comes, they both take a minute to catch their breaths. He hands her a wad of toilet paper to clean up while he rubs his smudged lenses against the soft material of his t shirt.

“Thanks for that,” Lily says, looking a little pink faced as she tugs her pants back up. It’s kind of cute to see her flustered after all the big talk she was pulling all night, and James bite back a smile.

“No worries,” he says, his belt clicking into place, “And uh, happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

Lily leaves first, with a dorky half wave, and this time he doesn’t even try to hide his laughter. In fact, it gets even louder when the wave turns into her flipping him off, and she huffs and rolls her eyes, but he can see her smile as she pushes the door open.

He follows a few minutes later, taking the time to try and compose himself. It’s all for naught though because the minute Sirius sees him he rolls his eyes.

“So that’s where you went off to,” he says, sipping his dirty martini, “Of course you did. The one time all four of us finally get to spend some time together without this stupid ‘adulthood’ cloud looming over us, you go slagging off with some girl.”

“Shut up Padfoot,” he grumbles, shouldering him just rough enough that his drink threatens to slosh over.

“Leave the man alone, Sirius,” says Remus, kicking him from under the table, “We all know the only action James has been getting for a while was his left hand.”

“Thanks mate.”

“Was she hot?” Peter asks curiously.

“A total babe.”

“Did you get her number?”

He hesitates just long enough for Sirius to scoff, “Of course he didn’t. He’s a bloody wanker trying to play it cool.”

“I’m not,” he objects, pouting a little, “She didn’t want to do anything serious.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, because Sirius gets that glint in his eye and then proceeds to simper in the most sugary voice possible, “Poor Prongs here just didn’t want to get his heart broken.”

“I didn’t- shut up, that’s not true,” he says, feeling his ears burn. He pushes back from the table. “I’m going to get something to drink; you all want anything?”

“You owe us the next round for bailing,” Remus says, draining the last of his pale ale.

“I’ll buy the next two if you drop this by the time I get back.”

“Deal.”

The crowd had cleared a bit as it got later, and he can’t stop himself from inconspicuously scanning the room. There’s no sign of red hair and he feels his heart give a strange kind of twinge. Moving up to the bar, he tries to push all thoughts of her out of his head, rattling off his friends’ orders seamlessly.

 

* * *

 

“Oi hurry up you prick!” It is quickly followed by a thump that rattles the door as Sirius throws a shoe towards it. “We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming, jeez,” says James, pulling his bedroom door open while he shrugs on his coat, “Keep your knickers on.”

“Honestly, I don’t even know why you take so long to get ready,” he says, ignoring him, “You obviously don’t put any effort into looking good.”

“Thanks.”

Sirius glance at his phone. “We have twenty minutes to get there. Evans is going to rip my balls off if we’re late.”

“Who the fuck even does brunch?” James grumbles, unlocking his car.

“Cultured people, you fuck,” Sirius shoots back at him. “Don’t expect you to know anything about that.”

Sirius likes to pretend that going to art shows and listening to indie rock bands croon in hole in the wall coffee shops that charge way too much for a macchiato makes him cultured. James on the other hand is as mainstream as one can get, and he purposely flips the radio over to the top forty hits just to piss him off.

His responding theatrical groan sounds better than whatever electro-pop music is being blasted through his speakers.

“I hate you,” he says, and then tries to block it out with his earbuds.

The restaurant they’re going too is the exact kind of thing Sirius would be into; everything is sleek and black and geometrics galore.

“It’s what the kids call minimalist,” he says smugly when they pull up.

“It’s what I call an eyesore,” says James, “Why couldn’t we do something else like, I don’t know, normal lunch. Or invite your friend over for dinner and video games?”

“Shush, Evans loves this place. She says the food is to die for,” he says absentmindedly, too busy searching the crowd for his new friend.

Apparently they met a few weeks ago when she moved into town to take up a job in the communications department of the company Sirius works with. They bonded over their shared love of Freddie Mercury, leather jackets, and motorbikes. It’s the first time Sirius has made an actual friend in a while, and James can’t help but be intrigued by this mysterious Evans.

He must find her, because the next thing he knows, he’s pulling him forward, weaving through the tables.

James doesn’t know where exactly they’re going, and as a result he almost walks into Sirius’ back.

“Jesus fuck, give a guy some warning,” he grumbles, pulling off his glasses to clean the new smudge across them, but Sirius either doesn’t hear him, or ignores him, choosing instead to say, “Evans!” and hug some stranger.

By the time he’s plopped his specs back on, pleasantries have been exchanged and Sirius is in the middle of introducing him.

“-my mate James, the one I’m always telling you about; Prongs,” he says, and James goes to offer his hand and a smile before realising exactly who’s in front of him.

His hand stills awkwardly in the air, smile freezing on his face as he just stares at her. Her poker face is much better than his though, because besides the slight widening of her eyes, she doesn’t react much.

“-Prongs, this is Lily Evans,” Sirius says excitedly, oblivious to it all.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, and her voice sounds a bit different when she hasn’t been smoking, more silvery, and he finds that his mouth has gone dry.

“Right,” he says, and his voice comes out a bit strangled. He clears his throat and offers his hand properly this time, trying not to think about what else she could do with her hand when she wraps it around his. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.”

“Wait until you meet the rest of them, Evans,” Sirius says as they all pull out their chairs. It’s a three person table so no matter where he sits, he still ends up next to her. James is pretty sure his face is doing something very weird right now, but no one has called him out on it, at least not yet. “If you can stomach Prongs here, you can handle the rest of them.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, and there’s that glimmer in her eye, the same one she had just before she kissed him the first time, “I’m sure James and I are going to get along just fine.”

Something about her expression makes him swallow thickly, eyes dropping to the black matte table instead.

God, he is so  _ fucked _ .

 

**Author's Note:**

> [join me in the trashcan](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/)


End file.
